


The Cowgirl

by TheMouthKing



Category: Rhett & Link
Genre: Anal Sex, Dildos, Episode Related, First Time, Full Slut Mode Link, Grinding, HR nightmare, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex Toys, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Surprise feelings, Voyeurism, fuck machine, grind your goodies, nap loft, office hijinks
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-22 18:54:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21306911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMouthKing/pseuds/TheMouthKing
Summary: After thePeeling Onions In A Cement MixerGMMore airs, a sex toy company takes it upon themselves to send Link something better to grind his goodies on. Unfortunately for Link, the whole studio is terribly aware of what arrives in the mail and gives him no shortage of hell for it. Fortunately for Rhett, that doesn't keep Link from finally giving it a test drive or two.
Relationships: Rhett McLaughlin/Link Neal
Comments: 95
Kudos: 119
Collections: Rhett and Link's Firsts





	1. Rawhide

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisiscyrene](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiscyrene/gifts), [annabelle_leigh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annabelle_leigh/gifts).

> BIG HUGE THANKS to everyone I've bothered along the way, including the following folks (via their tumblr tags): @usefulmammal, @bourbonpowered and @killthenaughtyboy. 
> 
> Even BIGGER thanks for @killthenaughtyboy's service as my master beta. Fam, I am forever in your debt.
> 
> For Reference: Here's [The Cowgirl](https://www.ridethecowgirl.com/all-products/)'s website, link goes to the product page. Please use this for reference to know what I'm talking about in the fic. Questions about how the thing works? Check the videos [here](https://www.ridethecowgirl.com/videos/). It should go without saying, all of these links are super NSFW. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I'm not affiliated with Cowgirl in any way. Please don't sue me. :P

The crew (and a good amount of the audience, judging from the comments) weren’t the only people who thought that Link seemed, _well_, a little pent up in that Good Mythical More. The one featuring the cement mixer used in equal parts to peel onions and be the point of fixation for Link’s nonstop jokes about grinding. 

_Apparently_ a certain company saw the exact same thing, because some few weeks after that episode aired, a very large box appeared in the mailroom which, upon being opened, created quite a stir in the office. Word spread fast even though Jen and Stevie tried to keep it under wraps -- the instant it was opened, it was a lost cause. 

After talking about what they should do with it, it was decided that the best course of action was just to bring it into the guys’ office and see what Link had to say about it. Jen carried the thing over to the door and managed to knock while she held it, struggling only because of the size and shape of the box rather than the weight. 

“Come in,” one or both of them calls through the closed door and Jen hesitates just a minute, trying to decide if it’s a good idea to bring it in if they’re both in there. But they’re going to find out soon enough, considering half the office already knows anyway. After a moment’s more deliberation, she manages the knob and comes on in, setting the box down on the coffee table. 

“What’s that?” Rhett asks, turning in his chair to look. 

“It’s for Link,” Jen says, pulling the envelope out of the open box and crossing the room towards Link, who only now perked up and turned to look. 

“For me?” Link looks at the box. It’s huge and takes up a ton of space on the coffee table. It looks like the kind of shipping box that might contain a big commercial microwave, or some other medium sized appliance. It was a wonder Jen had been able to carry it and see over the top of it, given its size.

“From who?” he asks as she passes him the envelope. 

“Uh… just read it,” Jen says cryptically, and tries to leave before they figure it out. But Link’s reading the letter and Rhett’s opening the folded down flaps of the cardboard box and Jen hasn’t managed to escape their office before they simultaneously find the answer to that question. 

Rhett’s guffaw comes first as he figures it out, reads the product label on the black manufacturer’s box inside the brown shipping box, _The Cowgirl, Premium Sex Machine. _Link’s response isn’t so amused. 

He reads and re-reads the first lines of the letter and wants to read the rest of it, but he’s distracted by the need to contain this situation and can’t let his eyes skim further. “Stop that,” Link scolds Rhett for laughing and tries to read the rest of the letter, and tells him off again when he fails to read it once more. “Stop laughing, this ain’t funny!”

“You’re right, It’s freaking hysterical,” Rhett’s damn near got tears in his eyes. He’s trying to pull the inner box out of the outer box and failing due to the size and weight of the thing. Meanwhile Jen is trying to leave. 

“Jen, get that thing outta here,” Link snaps. 

“Uh, okay.” Jen pauses with her hand on the doorknob and looks between her two bosses, unsure just what to do and seriously regretting having brought the thing here in the first place. 

“Rhett, just stop.” Link is absolutely mortified. He’s acting like it actually is his, like he’d bought it and Rhett had intercepted it. Like he had some intention of actually using this thing. 

“Oh come on,” Rhett says, trying to undo the tape on the inner box so he can just open the lid without separating the two containers. “I just wanna see it. If it’s just some promotional thing then maybe I’ll bring it home for Jessie. No reason it’s gotta go to waste.”

Link wants to scream from how horrifying the situation is, the embarrassment of having been sent a sex toy -- _a fuck machine_ \-- and receiving it in front of an employee and in front of Rhett makes it ten times worse. He can see he’s not gonna win here though, so he decides to minimize his misery and shoo Jen off instead, since Rhett apparently can’t be stopped. 

“I guess he’s gotta mess with it… you can just leave it,” Link says miserably to Jen who takes the opportunity to leave before they can call her back. Link adds one more quick thing before she manages, “Try and keep this quiet, ok?”

“Uh… yeah, absolutely. Totally quiet,” Jen flounders as she stands outside the office now, almost to freedom, hand on the doorknob waiting to close it behind herself, eyes wide and round as pie plates. 

Link doesn’t need to ask to know that he’s too late. People already know. He lets out a breath and just deflates, nodding in defeat as Jen lets the door click shut. Link glances over at Rhett as he thumbs through the instruction manual with barely concealed glee before returning his attention to the letter that is very much addressed to him. 

_Dear Link,_

_We saw your recent episode of Good Mythical More where you wanted so badly to “grind your goodies” on the cement mixer, and we couldn’t help send you a little (or not so little) something better to grind your goodies on. We hope you never actually got to grinding on the mixer, especially nude, as that would be incredibly unsafe. And you wondered why no one else was lining up to pay a dollar to grind **their** goodies!_

_We have a certain number of promotional units we can offer to influencers and reviewers, and hoped you might mention it in a social media post to help us promote the product, however that is by no means required. Our primary purpose in sending this was as a joke (or, should we be right in some assumptions we’ve made, as a sincere gesture) and hope that receiving this brings some joy and pleasure to your life. _

_Enclosed are some additional attachments and accessories as well. _

_Sincerely,_

_The Team at The Cowgirl_

_P.S. We know you’re tall boys, so here’s a tip: set the Cowgirl on a low footstool, or use it on a bed or with a couple of pillows to make it easier on your joints._

What the actual fuck.

______________________________________________________________________________

It takes a real long time for the whole thing to blow over. That first day Rhett just had to get the damn thing out of the box and check it all out, looking at the attachments and making intolerably inappropriate comments while doing so. He’d read the letter, too, much to Link’s chagrin (which had only got him laughing all the more). Link tried to ignore all of it, went back to working and refused to look. Kept exclaiming how stupid Rhett was being for being interested in it at all. The both of them were red faced over it, but Rhett’s embarrassment mixed with open interest and wasn’t squashed down by some sex machine company pegging him as being in the market for some vibrating ride-on monster. 

Link, for his part, was doing his best to rain on Rhett’s parade and he kept doing so until Rhett finally got to the point that continuing to mess with it felt like showing too much interest on his own part. There’s a definite level on which the two men were too enmeshed, so Link’s deep disapproval and not so subtle insinuations were eventually enough to make Rhett ashamed of himself to the point that he put the things back in the box and let them be. 

The toy finally made its way to the prop closet where it could be forgotten, and slowly things seemed like they were getting back to normal. Rhett hadn’t mentioned it in almost a week. Maybe they were even past the comments buzzing around the office, the furtive glances and the jokes. It seemed like everyone had forgotten about the Cowgirl. 

The problem was, Link had definitely not forgotten about it. In fact, even three weeks later it was sometimes all he could think about. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Then the cowboy hats started showing up. 

First it was just a tiny one left attached to the antenna of Link’s car, but then they started to multiply. He tried to ignore it at first, but when he walked into work one morning to find one in his desk chair and his usual mug replaced by a cowboy hat themed mug, that was the final straw. He typed a message into the main announcement channel in the office Slack that read: _Quit it with the cowboy hats._

And that worked. For about twenty minutes, until the crew who’d been there the longest and therefore felt the most secure and comfortable being insufferable assholes (read: Stevie and just a handful of others) sent private messages back that just read: 🤠

Link thinks he’s going to lose his mind, but at least the real life cowboy hats stop. 

For a few days. 

Friday morning, Link ventures out from their office to the kitchen to top up his coffee and there’s a cowboy hat in the fridge when he goes in for creamer. He slams the fridge shut and whips his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans, and sends out another Slack announcement: _I will seriously fire anyone caught leaving cowboy hats around._

Maybe he’s not serious. Probably he’s not, but it shouldn’t be worth it to anyone to find out. How many times does he have to ask people to quit it before they leave well enough alone?

Everyone’s pointedly not looking at Link as he heads back to their office in the wake of his blanket threat, or maybe he’s just imagining they’re avoiding looking. It’s hard to know and he’s definitely way too in his head about this. 

There’s one thing he’s definitely not imagining though, and that’s the fact that as he walked into their office with his fresh cup of coffee, Rhett’s standing over his desk with a cowboy hat in hand, working on balancing it delicately on his laptop’s screen. 

For a second, the two men stand on opposite sides of the office like, well, cowboys squaring off for a duel at high noon. 

Rhett, who apparently _had_ gotten the memo, smirks as he challenges Link, “Double dog dare you, _pardner_.”

“You’re fired,” Link says without missing a beat.

“You mean you won’t give me a… _ride_?” The pause is clearly for _emphasis_.

Link bristles with irritation, his jaw set in a hard line of annoyance. “Also, you’re walking home.”

______________________________________________________________________________

It’s not until almost a week later that something in Link just snaps. It’s all been too much; the thing showing up at all in the first place, Rhett’s insatiable interest in it, the knowledge that everyone in the office knew about it. And then the cowboy hats. 

They’d just finished filming next week’s Ear Biscuit and getting ready to head home, Rhett gathering his things together in his backpack while Link slowed around so Rhett would hopefully leave first. He was texting Christy that he’d be just a little bit later, that there’d been some issue he needed to fix quick before he left but that it shouldn’t be more than another half hour. 

When Rhett had everything set to go he stood and shouldered his backpack, waiting in silence for a beat, expecting Link to stand up before too long to walk out with him. Even on days like today when they drove in separately, they still tended to leave together more nights than not.

“I’ll be right behind you, gotta finish this email. You go on ahead,” Link said with a dismissive wave, not even looking up at Rhett as he spoke, afraid of what he might give away if he did. 

Rhett maybe noticed something was off, if his hesitation to leave was anything to go by, but it didn’t last long before he apparently decided to shrug it off and take Link at his word. 

“Alright, brother. Don’t work too hard. There’s always tomorrow, y’know.” 

And with that, Link was left alone. 

______________________________________________________________________________

Rhett made it to the car before he realized he’d forgotten his phone. 

He sat there with the car on, trying to find it in the bottom of his bag, but he wasn’t having any luck. He couldn’t recall if he even saw the car’s display register it connecting via Bluetooth when he’d turned the car on, so finally he gives up his search and decides he must have forgotten it inside. 

He leaves his backpack on the passenger’s seat and pockets his keys as he walks back into the building, punching in the key code and making his way back to their office. Link apparently hasn’t left yet -- at least, he hasn’t seen him come out the back door -- so Rhett’s expecting to walk into their office and come face to face with him. He’s thinking about what he’ll say, if he’s gonna make some kind of joke about not having gotten too far without his phone and what that says about him or if he’s gonna give Link some shit about the fact that he still hasn’t left, but before he settles on which he’s going to go for, a sound coming from beyond their closed office door stops him in his tracks. 

Link’s moaning, alone in their office and for a second Rhett’s not sure if he should open the door. 

No, he definitely should _not_ open the door, that’s the right answer here. Forget about his phone and just go home, get his phone tomorrow morning when he’s back in the office and just deal with it. But his curiosity (among other things) gets the best of hm, and his hand moves to the doorknob. 

What’s going on for Link that he’s staying after work to jerk off? He’d said something about being frustrated, but Rhett thought that was just a joke for the show. He’d completely forgotten about the Cowgirl until he finally caves and turns the doorknob in his hand, and hears a low humming whirr mixed in with what’s obviously Link’s low moans, both of which are coming from the upstairs loft. He stands there, frozen in the doorway, afraid to come in and afraid to go. Anything he does right now feels damning, proof positive that he’s been here, that he _knows._

The smart move is to leave, but smart left the building the second he heard Link moan through their closed office door. _Stupid_ gets braver the longer this stretches on, and he’s convinced that between the considerable rumble of the Cowgirl and the sounds Link’s making and how obviously distracted he is, that he can come in further without risking notice. 

He shuts the door behind himself just as quietly as he’d entered, and then he’s moving like there’s a string wrapped around him, tugging him deeper into their office until he’s standing in the middle, underneath the leaves and the loft, directly underneath Link doing god knows what. 

He’s got to know. 

Every step he takes toward the stairs is one step closer to being caught, to causing whatever Link’s doing up there to stop suddenly, start up a fight instead. He can hear it already, scorn in Link’s voice as he yells at him, _what the hell were you thinking?_

What the hell _is_ he thinking?

He’s not, really. Or if he is, it’s whittled down to one track, the knowledge that just upstairs is… is _Link_ and all that’s keeping him from seeing it is the fact that he’s not there yet. It’s impossible to resist. 

He’s never been more glad their office is a new build, that the ladder stairs are solid steel, that they don’t creak when he moves like the floors in their first apartment did. There’d been so many close calls then where the creak of the floor was the only thing that gave them time to not get caught. 

Still, Rhett’s heart is practically beating out of his chest by the time he’s climbed the steps enough that he can see Link across the loft, catch sight of him between the steel lines of the guard rail. The recliners are in the way, but what he’s doing is still readily apparent. He’s astride the Cowgirl, which is sitting on a low stool, still fully clothed but very clearly riding it. 

Rhett’s initial shock over the fact that this is happening at all comes up against his surprise to find Link completely dressed, but that line of thinking is short-lived as he stands there on the stairs and watches, catches the details of what’s going on. 

Link’s left hand isn’t visible up under his shirt, pawing at his chest while his right hand grips the footstool of Rhett’s recliner, holding on for balance as he grinds himself down, fully clothed on the rumbling machine. For the life of him he can’t imagine a reason Link is doing this _clothed, _and he’s silently cursing whatever reason that might be, nevermind the fact that this is more than he’d ever imagined he’d get to see. And he’s memorizing every second, the way the fabric of those joggers skim over his thighs, how the wrinkles and folds offer up suggestions of the shapes beneath. Clothed or not, the fact of what Link’s doing, even alone and thinking himself unseen has him gone crimson from his cheeks down to where his shirt takes over at his neck to conceal him from view, his hair wild, a riot of mostly salt and some pepper. Is he ashamed or is he losing himself to the experience?

It’s too much to take in at once and Rhett just stands there, slack-jawed, watching Link ride. 

How many times had he looked on at Link with hunger? Let his gaze trail down the line of Link’s body, follow the dips and divots of those lean muscles as far down as he dared to. Here, he’s a little more daring -- Link’s not wearing his glasses, and he’s not looking around either, riding with his eyes closed like maybe he’s playing a tape in his mind that takes hold easier with the room blotted out. 

Rhett’s startled when he hears Link groan suddenly, breathily, raising up away from the machine, thighs flexing beneath the thin fabric of his joggers. He’s only away from it for a moment before he plants his ass right back down, and Rhett could see right in that second there that he’s using the main attachment. The, what was it called? The rawhide? Mostly flat, just a raised nub to rub on, to _grind his goodies on_. 

Link’s shirt twists up from the inside in his fingers and the hand on Rhett’s footstool curls into a fist and Link’s face is all screwed up, and that’s when Rhett catches on to the fact that Link’s right hand has the remote. That he must have turned it up a touch higher, that was what sent him recoiling from it for a moment. 

Rhett can feel his heartbeat in his ears, his blood running hot through his body. His hand is slick with sweat on the railing he’s holding onto for balance, to keep from toppling back down the steep stairs, and his cock is straining against the front of his pants the longer he watches Link. 

The shirt is gone before long. Link wrenches it off none too gracefully, over his head, gives it a blind toss and Rhett is so very aware that it lands right in his recliner. Right where he sits next to Link at some point most every day. Then Rhett gets to see exactly what it is Link’s doing, how he’s touching himself, grabbing at his chest almost absentmindedly, fingers and thumb occasionally finding and pinching a nipple. 

It’s hard to tell if Link’s, well, hard, but he’s gotta be with the way he’s moving, the way that thing is humming away between his legs, and the sounds he’s making. Any question Rhett had about that is erased suddenly when Link’s right hand comes away from the stool and instead cups between his thighs, groping himself obviously through his joggers and Rhett can see the thick shape of him through the fabric. Why is he still wearing pants? Rhett can’t stop wondering, cursing whatever is keeping Link still clothed as much as he is, hungry eyes devouring every inch of Link he can see and greedily wanting more. 

Rhett watches as Link’s lips part with a soft, almost startled sound as he squeezes himself again, raising himself up into the touch of his hand and away from the machine like he’s imagining something else. Like maybe in his mind he’s warring between what’s in front of and behind him, filling in the blanks with _people. _Rhett wonders if he’s featured in Link’s fantasies, watches how Link’s muscles go taut and rigid as he moves up and down, up and down, hips grinding down on the machine more and more the longer this stretches out. Maybe it was too much at first, too intense, but it’s not long until it seems like he can’t get enough, like all he wants is _more._

That’s when he starts forgetting himself. When a hand, tense and overwhelmed, rakes through his own hair and leaves it wild and messy in its wake, and all Rhett can think is how it’d feel to get his hands on Link, in his hair, on that tight little body. Guide those hips as they move and grind, caress down that apparently sensitive chest to his belly, strong thighs, teasing back to his aching, needy cock. 

Soon enough, through his pants isn’t enough for Link and that hand dips down the front of those blue joggers and the pace changes abruptly. Link’s finding his balance with his other hand gripping the front edge of the Cowgirl and he’s riding it hard; broad, muscled shoulders hunched forwards as he grinds it like he’s riding a cock, like he’s being fucked. Like he’s chasing every last curl of pleasure with the kind of single-minded need Rhett had never believed he’d get to see, but has imagined more times than he’s strictly comfortable admitting. 

Link’s red-faced and sweating, arms beginning to shake with the strain and how close he is to finally falling apart. It’s all Rhett can do not to touch himself then and there, but he’s terrified of Link catching sight of him watching and all of this crashing down. Rhett’s grip is vise tight, white-knuckled on the railing, and he watches as Link chases his orgasm, mindlessly working himself over with his hand while he squirms, lets the rumble of the strong motor do the lion’s share of the work as everything starts to unravel and he can’t keep his coordinated efforts going any longer. 

“Oh gosh, oh f-fuck,” Link cries as he comes, looking startled and so young with that ruddy color in his cheeks and splotched down his chest, despite the salt and pepper of his hair. If Rhett had any question at all if Link had come or not just then, it’s answered in the heavy sigh that kick-starts his breathing again and swipe of his hand over his belly as pulls it free of his pants, smearing his mess over his skin. 

Rhett knows he’s gotta go but he doesn’t want to leave, doesn’t want to pull away from drinking in how wrecked Link looks after. He’s struck by the absolute boldness it took to have done that here, in their office, in their loft, where they sit sometimes to do their work or to unwind and take a nap in between. How _dare_ he. But there isn’t time to follow that thought any further, because Link’s eyes blink open, maybe with vision still blurry and unseeing, but Rhett’s struck through with terror and ducks away, managing by some miracle to descend the steps in relative silence. He owes a great debt of gratitude to the continued hum of the Cowgirl that Link hasn’t managed to turn off yet for muffling his way down, and he makes his way out of their office, he thinks without being caught. 

That was close. Too close. He’s not going to make that same mistake twice, not going to risk it to watch again, except that resolve is quick to weaken. 

He’d still forgotten his phone. 


	2. Lone Ranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhett can't stay away. Things... _escalate._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get somewhere safe for this one.

He wasn’t going to watch again, but he was drawn in the next time Link made some thin excuse to stay late a few Thursdays later. 

This time it’s different. 

This time he moves slower, but there’s a quiet desperation here now there wasn’t before. 

He’s entirely naked this time. Rhett wonders why, wonders if it was just that he’d grown bolder. If he was more secure in the thought that he was alone, more comfortable with the toy, wanting to remove the barrier of clothing and explore, have a more intense experience. 

Whatever the reason is, Rhett’s thanking god for it because the view it affords him is one he’s going to carry with him for the rest of his days. The sight of Link straddling the machine, riding the heavy black leather saddle of it, hips working so slow that if it wasn’t for the flex of his thighs, the slow sinewy way his hips work, you could almost wonder if he’s moving at all. 

He’s got a hand on Rhett’s footstool like last time, for balance. But something is different. 

Link’s more worked up. 

Rhett chalks it up to his being naked, to direct contact between the vibrations and his skin, but it’s more than that. He’s moving like he’s close already, like he’s found exactly what he needs and he’s just trying to eke out a little more, _just a little more._ Rhett’s unspeakably glad that Link’s not wearing his glasses again, that when his eyes open they’re unseeing, unfocused. That for the time being at least, he’s watching from a safe distance, unseen. 

It becomes clear all of a sudden that he’d been very wrong in his initial assessment of the situation when Link raises himself up slowly and sinks back down. Rhett’s watching from a low enough angle that when he does, he’s in line to see that this time there’s a different attachment hooked to the Cowgirl. Not the rawhide with it’s raised nub but one of the others. One of the insertable ones. 

Rhett doesn’t know the names of the rest but he’d messed around with everything in the box and he’s desperate to know if it’s the thick one shaped like a cock or the more slender one curved for the prostate. If Link’s working his way up, he’d guess the latter but it’s almost impossible to know for sure. 

He snaps out of his daze to focus on Link’s hand, trembling worse than usual as he goes for the remote, as he hits one of the dials and ratchets it up a little. Rhett wishes he remembers what each of them do so he knew what it was Link was feeling, what he was wanting more of. He tries to guess by his reaction, by the way his breath catches suddenly, the way his lips part and his head falls back, neck exposed. Rhett watches as Link’s body follows suit with whatever function he’d triggered, as his hips grind down in a slow, seductive circle against the saddle he’s perched on. 

Link’s hand moves, trembling, to his belly like he’s trying to feel for the toy he’s riding through his body. Fingertips nudge in and rub, dip lower along his abdomen and press inward. When it clicks for Rhett what Link’s feeling for, he’s desperate to know what he’s feeling. If he can. If he could if the dick he’s riding were thicker. If it was _him_. 

“Fuck,” Link breathes to no one, letting go of the control he’s been holding onto tight as he can, trembling hand curling into a shaking fist. It’s too much already, whatever it is he’s feeling, and Rhett wishes he were the one with the controls. Wants to be the one making Link feel this way, wants Link like this _for him_. On his knees, naked, sweating. Riding him. Begging for more.

One hand braces on the top of his thigh and the other fumbles for the remote again, grabs the cord and follows it up to the controls, carelessly hitting buttons he didn’t intend to. He changes the pattern when he hasn’t wanted to, and practically fucking _keens_ with how that doesn’t give him nearly what he needs. Rhett wonders at the difference, what he’d done, what he’s feeling, but all he knows is his fingers are searching over the remote and he’s clicking buttons and squirming his hips till he’s satisfied and switches back to the dials instead, hips still for a moment. 

When one of the dials move, Rhett can hear the rumble of the vibrations get louder, overlaid on top of a heavy moan. It doesn’t take a lot of work to figure out what that dial did. 

Which means when his shaking fingers work the other dial, he’s changing the movement of it. The rotation of the toy he’s riding, the dildo that’s working inside him. Rhett realizes that at just the same moment this high, wild sound escapes from Link, completely undignified and so fucking hot. It’s all Rhett can do right then to keep quiet himself. 

Link’s not touching himself, he’s moving like he’s trying to chase his orgasm through penetration alone. So far it’s not quite being enough to get him there, judging by his increasingly desperate movements, gripping the front of the Cowgirl and rocking like he’s chasing some particular feeling. 

God but Rhett wants to be the one Link’s riding like this, desperate, headlong, single-minded. 

He was completely unprepared for the possibility of Link calling his name out, but he does. Remote in hand, some combination of the dials turned and Link’s body reacting like he’d received a shock strong enough to jump start him like a car engine, a startlingly guttural “Oh _Rhett_” escapes him. And Rhett gasps. 

Audibly. 

Link startles, his reaction instantaneous. Color rushes to the surface of his skin and leaves him even more flushed and mottled than he had been, cheeks and neck and chest. 

“Oh my god.” Link sounds, _looks_ horrified to realize that Rhett’s been watching him fuck himself. 

But he’s not so startled as to stop what he’s doing, to drop the remote. To jump away from the machine and try and pretend like he hadn’t just been doing what they both clearly know he’s doing. Maybe he’s too far into this, too far gone, past the point where being caught could stay his hand. Or, well, hips. 

“Shit, Link, I’m sorry!” 

Rhett’s nearly falling over his feet in his haste to get away, trying to descend the steps as fast as he possibly can to try and minimize his embarrassment. Both his and Link’s. 

“Oh shit, f-fuck—” 

If Link _is_ mortified, he’s sure as hell not stopping. 

“I’m leaving, I’m so sorry, I didn’t—”

And Rhett, for his part, steals one more glance as he makes to rush down the stairs. If he’s damned already, then he may as well take one more glance on the way. 

“Don’t,” Link manages, commanding Rhett’s attention. “Don’t. You. Fucking_._ _Dare_.”

Every word comes hard and more deliberate than the last, absolutely no question left between them as to whether or not Link wanted him to stay. To watch.

Rhett freezes in place, watching. Link’s staring back at him the way he can only guess he’d been staring at him tonight and last week. Link’s not wearing his glasses but it still feels to Rhett like his eyes catch on every detail, hold him in inescapable scrutiny. He feels like a bug under the glass, and it doesn’t escape him at all that this is absolutely what he deserves, a little turning of the tables after watching Link in this compromised position _twice_ without his knowledge. 

It feels like they’re caught in some sort of staring contest, and it feels like it’s stretching on long, but the reality is it can’t be more than a couple seconds, just a few beats of rest before the next movement in this raw orchestra plays on. 

And there’s a shift, as if from one key to the next or from woodwind to string. Rhett’s not in control anymore, if he ever was at all.

It’s apparent in how he breaks from the held breath and locked eyes of that silent beat by sinking down on the Cowgirl with full knowledge that Rhett is watching. He’d told him to, commanded him to stop, to stay, to _look_, so the sound he makes as he grinds himself down on the rumbling machine is for him. The flex of those strong thighs, the way the muscles of his belly tighten as he moves like a live wire, all for him. 

And Link’s watching Rhett watching him, blue eyes fixed on him, trying to read him. His gaze dips down as low as the line of the stairs allows, to take in as much of him as he can, searching for evidence that he likes what he sees. 

Rhett doesn’t know with how much detail he can see without his glasses, and he can’t know what Link feels as he moves, works his hips in circles, wide and slow and then coming in tighter and faster. Link’s cock is as red as his face is, bobs as he moves, thick and hard. He’s not touching it, but Rhett _wants to. _God, he’d give anything to get his hands on him, his mouth, anything anywhere Link would allow. Rhett’s staring at him like a starving man looking in on a buffet he’s shut out of. 

Rhett’s caught up in the rhythm of it, the way Link starts to move up and down, up and down. His attention is so trained on him that he doesn’t miss how when Link stops grinding, stops chasing, that he’s still subtly moving, body lulled into a slow sway by the steady motion of the machine. 

“Fuck me, Rhett.” Link blurts it out, lust-heavy eyes locked on his like he’s searching the taller man for his response. 

“Link--” he hears himself say, starting to question it because he can’t. He can’t do this in half-measures, can’t agree if it’s just the heat of the moment for Link, a choice made against his better judgment, drunk on the desire coursing through his body. 

“_Now_,” Link clarifies in no uncertain terms, one hand straying up his chest to brush over a too-sensitive nipple. “I need you-- need more than this, than riding this and thinking about you. You can’t--” he pauses, halts, breath stolen from him as his shaking hand accidentally trips the pattern button and he’s lurched into some other variation of vibration, “--can’t tell me… you don’t want to…”

Rhett can’t believe what he’s hearing. He feels like he should protest more, that he should be some kind of voice of reason, but there isn’t a thought in his head aside from how ungodly beautiful the man in front of him looks on his knees. 

“I’m…” he falters, gives up, doesn’t know the end of the sentence. His resolve is quickly failing, which is a kind way of saying he hadn’t had any resolve left to lose. 

“Do you want to?” 

_“Yes.” _Rhett says it without hesitation. There’s no question that he wants to, that he’s wanted to since before he knew what wanting to meant or what it entailed. 

“Then _oh my god_, get over here,” Link practically keens as he plants his hands down on the front of the Cowgirl’s saddle and lifts himself up, and that’s the first that Rhett got a look at what it was Link had been riding. Fuck, what was that one called? The black silicone attachment with the prostate-toy ball end, whatever that one was. And it’s slick with lube, the whole thing shining wet with it well onto the saddle itself. He can just imagine how wet Link is, how ready for him. 

Rhett doesn’t have to be told again. This isn’t exactly ideal, there’s so much he’d like to have done before jumping into fucking Link but that’s not in the cards. He might have gone the rest of his life without even _this_ in the cards, and he may be stupid but he’s not so stupid as to refuse (after his initial sputtering) knowing this could be his only chance. 

Now he’s falling over himself to get the rest of the way upstairs. He’s trying to think a step ahead, about where’s the best place for this, what position, considering their respective heights and all the rest. But as he tries to walk and unzip his jeans at the same time, his brain keeps catching on the sight of Link’s sweaty body crawling away from the Cowgirl and toward their chairs and with that, the question is answered for him. 

Link stumbles and catches himself in Rhett’s recliner, elbow anchored against the seat as he clocks Rhett circling him. Rhett spots the lube there as he’s pushing his jeans down, as he’s making his way to his knees. He doesn’t even fully get the sentence out before Link’s doing as he asked.

“Hand me—”

“Yeah,” Link passes him the bottle, twisting to look over his shoulder at Rhett as he crawls on his knees close enough that their thighs brush. 

Link doesn’t hesitate to lean back a little, to push his ass against Rhett’s body where it reaches. 

“Oh my _god_,” Rhett groans mostly to himself as he looks down, sees how they don’t even line up right cause he’s _so tall_, how even trying to grind back on him Link misses his cock by a mile. Rhett could take it in hand and press it down against his lower back. 

“C’mon,” Link breathes. His hips are swaying, grinding himself back against the bunched up front of his jeans, his thighs. His ass is so wet from just having been fucking himself, just having been riding, and he doesn’t give a flying fuck that he’s making a mess. 

“You don’t reach,” Rhett says stupidly while he fumbles open the lube to pour some out in his hand, stroking it over the thick length of his cock. It wouldn’t even remotely be an issue if he’d managed to get his jeans all the way off, because then he could compensate by widening his stance, bringing himself down a little lower. Right now, though, he can’t manage to find the brain power to fix this situation. 

“Fuck, I don’t care... I need it.” Link tries to figure out what the hell Rhett means. He tries to rise up, put his weight on his elbows, grab the arms of Rhett’s recliner, curls his feet up to plant his toes so he can raise himself up. 

It’s too much. Too much moving, too much ass bumping up against his dick. Link’s desperation, his over-eager need is catching his nerves on fire, stealing his breath from him. Feeling, witnessing Link’s scramble to fit the two of them together, to make up the difference in their heights and the length of their limbs was something he’d never thought he’d experience. He thought the last time he’d felt the inequity of their bodies quite like that was _dead move days_, the brief reprise of the conjoined twin challenge. He never dared to hope this would happen outside of late night fantasies stolen when he was alone.

“Move,” Rhett tells him as he moves him, one hand planted at the center of his back, the other at his hip, pushing him down further over the seat of his chair. The result is that it lets Link raise his ass up, lets him rely more on the chair for height and position than he does himself. It allows Rhett the use of the chair to brace and balance.

Rhett brushes lube-slick fingers between them, slipping easily down over Link’s wet ass, between his cheeks, the tip of one thick finger making like he’s thinking of dipping it in as he husks the half-question, “D’you need…?”

And Link _whines_ at that. Maybe because just as much as he needs his cock he wants those big fingers inside him. Or maybe because he can’t believe Rhett’s dallying like he is, can’t believe he isn’t inside him already. 

“No, Rhett, _oh god_, you gotta… you gotta just fuck me.”

God, he’s just blathering on. Rhett never imagined, not in his wildest dreams that Link would be even remotely capable of being gripped with this level of need and talking so much simultaneously. This is a man who can’t swing on a swing set and answer simple questions at the same time, and here he’s doing everything in his power to rise up and bridge the difference in their heights and how their bodies line up while also laying out just exactly how he needs to be fucked. 

Of course, it figures he can’t manage it without his accent slipping. Without the southern coming out warm and slow like honey. Without the occasional rounded hint of that lisp. How can he ever hope to deny him anything he asks for when he asks like this? 

Rhett buries his nose into the back of Link’s neck, nuzzling his sweat drenched skin and moves, guiding them into a position where this is possible. He’s not just using his arms and hands but the weight of his body, his sheer mass to get Link where he needs him and hold him there. It’s not unlike how they used to wrestle, how Rhett used their relative sizes to his advantage. Somehow in the middle of this he maneuvers one hand down between them, presses his cock between Link’s wet cheeks and guides them together until he’s pressing inside. Link still won’t stop moving. Won’t or can’t, arching beneath him like being still will kill him. Like he’s got to let some of this energy out. 

“Oh gosh.” Link holds back from cursing _god_ now and it’s almost laughable after so inelegantly demanding to be fucked in no uncertain terms.

“Yeah,” Rhett hooks his chin against Link’s shoulder, feels the barest hint of Link’s five o’clock shadow catching in his beard as he coils himself around Link like a large and overly affectionate snake. He’s sinking in and he can _feel Link feel it_, feel the way his body reacts under his weight, in his arms as he holds him down. He can feel the way Link’s at war with himself to relax, body yielding to him in a way Rhett’s never experienced before. 

Link’s breathing hard, damn near panting, face smashed down against the now-warm leather. Another inch comes slow and hard won, comes from patience and relaxation on Link’s part, but there’s a point where suddenly the resistance is gone and Rhett sinks the rest of the way in. 

“_Oh. _Ohmigosh,” Link keens and writhes beneath Rhett, back arching but there’s nowhere to get to. He turns his face the other way, gotta move gotta _move,_ and there’s the scrabbling sound of nails on leather that give away the fact that he needs something to hold on to. Some way to ground himself. 

It’s the desperation that’s going to kill Rhett, that’s burning itself into his memory. He spares a hand to come up and curl against that fretful fist, knowing how Link needs a hand, needs reassurance when he’s overwhelmed. Link relaxes his fist, fingers spreading to try and catch some of Rhett’s between them. 

“I got you.” He breathes the words against Link’s neck. Then, “You okay?” 

Rhett’s voice is thick and distracted by what he’s feeling, by the tight heat of Link’s little body, by how it feels to eclipse him and still feel him hold his own, doing everything in his power to make up for the size difference. He can feel the shaking in Link’s thighs, his calves with the strain of raising himself up to bridge that gap. 

“_Fuck.” _He gets _that_ word out loud and clear, but the rest comes breathless and fast, “You’re big…”

Rhett smiles in spite of himself, feels pride well in his chest at the startled compliment, the knowledge that his size was a surprise. A challenge he was rising to eagerly. He hides the smile as he kisses the back of his neck, open-mouthed, and breathes, “You’re okay, yeah?”

It takes a couple of seconds, but Link responds with a soft _yeah_ that Rhett echoes back to him, _yeah._ His nose burrows at the nape of Link’s neck, so sweaty their skin slips together like there’s no friction between them, and it should be disgusting but it’s not. Link shivers under Rhett, set off by the touch to that soft place at the back of his neck, overwhelmingly intimate.

Link manages to wrench an arm out from under himself to reach back and grab hold of Rhett by whatever he can reach — his hip or ass — simultaneously squirming like he’s in a position to take over control, to force the issue, to drive himself back fully at this odd angle on Rhett’s cock, to drive home the point that he needed more _now_. The truth is he’s _not_, not remotely in a position to take, but he’s not cut out to let go of control real easy. Rhett catches on to what he’s wanting, what he’s angling for, and gives it to him — pulling back slightly and sinking in again, grinding hips against ass. Feels how Link spreads his thighs wider for it, like the thickness of his cock is too much and he’s trying to open his hips, trying to relax into being fucked this deeply.

“Ohfuck,” Link breathes hot against the leather of the chair, against where more days than not, Rhett’s ass rests in the seat. 

Link squeezes Rhett’s fingers in his and holds on tight, so Rhett checks in again. Keeps it just like it is, this slow grind with their bodies locked together, “This okay?”

“Y-yeah… more… _more_,” Link’s struggling for words, stammering. It’s hard to say what he means, hard to think after riding the machine and keeping himself just on this side of the edge for as long as he had, getting himself so close to coming but only now finally, _finally_ starting to really get what he wants. 

Rhett takes that for the invitation it is and pulls back, fucks into him again deeper, harder, and he’s rewarded when it steals Link’s ability to speak. He feels rather than hears the way the breath leaves him in a rush and with it all hope for sound. Rhett repeats the move again and again, hips bouncing off his ass and keeping just ahead of his ability to regain speech. 

It’s all he can do just to breathe for a while there, and when finally he finds his voice all he gets out is a low, animal moan on an exhale, the sound of his voice staccatoed by how good he’s getting it. God it’s good, it’s fucking perfect, it’s what he needed — to be bent in half and railed within an inch of his life. 

But then Rhett overshoots the move and accidentally slips out and Link groans at the loss; they both do. Rhett stutters to a stop but leans into it for a moment, into Link, grinds his dick aimlessly against his ass, rutting himself between wet cheeks. Rhett’s so caught up that it hardly matters to him that they’d come to a grinding halt, no pun intended. Instead, he’s taking it as a chance to put on the brakes just enough to keep it from all being over too soon. 

That’s not what Link needs, though, and he starts trying to regain some capacity for speech previously lost beneath all that inhuman moaning to let Rhett know exactly what he needs. It can’t be easy with the press of Rhett’s cock almost but _not quite_ where he needs it, the thick girth of it slipping between his sweat and lube-slick thighs, the head nudging and nestling up against his scrotum. 

“Put it back, put it back.” Link manages to stammer the words, voice coming in this strangled desperate sound. Rhett’s never heard this kind of need from Link before, never even managed to imagine it in his wildest fantasies (of which there have been _many_). The reality of Link breathless and wild beneath him, demanding exactly what he wants is searing itself into his consciousness, if not his skin. 

So Rhett puts it back. Cock in hand he moves careful, slow, but it’s easier this time because Link’s been fucked loose and open. This time he sinks in without much effort, and their bodies slump together with a shared groan, like on some visceral level they’re one person. They’re sure as hell trying to be, anyway. 

“You like that, baby?” Rhett growls it in his ear, has no idea what makes him say it. It’s just this high possessive streak he has, this need to rub it in. It’s like he’s got something to prove, always has something to prove when it comes to Link, that something being that Link is _his_ and only Rhett has what it is he really needs. 

And right now Link needs to be fucked raw. 

The way Link reacts suggests he had no idea just how much he needed to be called _baby_, this undignified sound, startled and aroused. Maybe a touch ashamed of how much it turns him on. And it does, if his newly reddened ears are any indication. 

“_Oh._”

“—yeah.”

“Fuck yeah,” Link lets himself have this. Horny enough not to wonder what it says about him, to let himself be Rhett’s baby because it feels good. “Don’t fucking stop--”

No sooner do the words leave his lips than does Rhett slip out again and Link’s body jolts, expecting the move to buck him back onto Rhett’s dick but instead they collide awkwardly. This is more than he can stand, too frustrating that they hit stride just long enough to start really scratching the itch only to lose rhythm and momentum again so completely. It’s some combination of their heights and Rhett’s legs still tangled up in his jeans, first time clumsiness and nerves and the shock of fucking (or being fucked by) another man that has them thrown. Makes this hard to fall into step with. 

He groans at the loss, stops bothering to reach back, to hang on to Rhett where he can reach him, hand clinging to his hip in a desperate bid to keep them together, to keep Rhett buried where he needed him. They can’t hit stride, can’t figure out the coordination, and Link doesn’t have the patience to keep trying and failing. 

“Get off.”

“...wait...” Rhett’s voice is thick with confusion and hurt. 

“Get on the floor.”

Rhett’s a little slow to catch on, caught up in this single-minded need to get back to where he was, to get back inside Link just like he had been. To curl an arm around him, help them keep their rhythm, keep from getting out of sync again. But Link isn’t having it, pushes up and out of the chair, arms braced against it for leverage to move them.

Rhett moves quickly when he figures out what Link’s angling for, but he can’t move fast enough. Long limbs are clumsy in the small, cramped space of the loft and as he moves to stretch out on the floor he clears a path, bumping into the end table and sends it scraping scooting away, knocking into the footstool of his chair. In the few seconds he’s got before Link follows him down he kicks his jeans the rest of the way off of his legs, fighting briefly with his shoes before succeeding. He’s still wearing his shirt, but that’s less of a concern because it doesn’t impede things. 

Link could care less, or at least he doesn’t comment as he moves over Rhett, a knee planted on either side of his body. He knows a moment of uncertainty, of wanting so much he doesn’t quite know where to start — the urge is to pick right back up, to sink down on Rhett’s cock right that second and try not to lose a beat, but facing him is disarming. 

Link hadn’t been able to see the details of how Rhett had been watching him, the look on his face from the stairwell, without his glasses. Now closer, he can see not just the trees but the leaves of this. The blown wide pupils as Rhett drinks in the sight of him, follows the movement of his body, broad shoulders, slender waist and hips. Feels him war with himself between letting his gaze linger on the hard line of his cock or keep moving down the spread of strong thighs. 

Link wants to say he’s never been looked at like this by Rhett before — looked at like he’s really seeing him, like he’s memorizing his skin, but that’s an outright lie. He’s just ignored it before, let it happen, the tense reality of those past moments etched into his memory sidelong and stolen. 

Link wants it head on. He wants it to burn him up and leave him raw and breathless. He doesn’t look away as he moves, touch-drunk and hungry, to settle against Rhett. Truth be told he doesn’t know if its Rhett’s big hands on his hips pulling him down like an anchor or if Link’s sinking of his own accord, but they collide regardless. 

This is all backwards and neither of them can help it. Fucking first and finding their way backwards to grinding, cocks pressed together and nowhere near enough, friction eased with lube and sweat. 

Link realizes they haven’t even kissed yet. It’s that barely formed thought that draws him down, has him kissing Rhett long and deep and with the full force of the decades between them. 

Rhett’s hands feel like they’re everywhere, big palms and long fingers bracketing his hips and guiding the way they move together. Link wants to keep on kissing him but he wants Rhett in him more. There will be time for kissing later, after. Next time. There isn’t a question in his mind right now, lust-addled as it is, that there will be a next time. 

Finally he breaks away. “Want you in me.”

“Yeah.” Rhett’s voice comes in a rough whisper punctuated by his grip of Link’s hips tightening possessively. 

Link manages to push himself up and then they’re fumbling together, hands brushing as they work on their single-minded goal. Link raises himself up and reaches back and beneath him for Rhett, but Rhett’s got a hold of himself, big hand wrapped around the base of his cock and he’s guiding it against Link. Thick fingers of his other hand search between his slick cheeks, brushing over his entrance to line them up. Link’s hardly an expert at sex like this and he doesn’t know what to do with himself to make it happen faster, but he _wants_ so bad he’s damn near blind with need. Fretful hands go from looking for balance against Rhett’s soft belly to reaching back to his own ass, easing his cheeks spread as Rhett guides him, as he sinks down. 

It’s _different_. Different from riding the cowgirl, than being bent face down over a chair. None of it was more or less real, but this somehow feels more real. Like facing Rhett changes things, even though their failed attempt from behind had the undeniable reality of Rhett pressed against his back just like all those years of dead moves, the reality of his bearded mouth and warm breath against the back of his neck. Rhett’s better than the Cowgirl for grinding on, hot and hard and soft and _Rhett_ all at once. They’d just been fucking barely a minute before, Link bent face down, but somehow this feels like the first time he’s taking him. Chalk it up to what being face to face added to this, to the intensity that came with being able to read Rhett’s expression and how sure he was that he could infer what he was feeling because they were just like that. Because they’d always felt like there were parts of them that were just extensions of the other.

Settling down fully, he’s sitting on his cock, Rhett’s big hand pinned between them, feels those bony knuckles and long fingers trapped there under him and he groans and gives a grind against him just like that. He reaches down, shamelessly grabbing at himself, gives a mindless stroke to his cock and a slow squeeze to his balls before he’s got the forethought to raise up a bit and let Rhett take back his hand. 

It doesn’t go far, that hand. It slaps wetly as it lands on Link’s inner thigh, sending a little jolt up through his body. Link wants that again but doesn’t know how to ask for it, the percussion of hands and skin. It spurs him into action like a heel to the ribs of a horse mid-break and he shifts, tenses, raises up and sinks down again, starting to ride Rhett like he had the machine mounted cock. 

“Ohfuck, yeah.” Rhett’s voice comes rushed and soft, reverent like he’s half afraid if he’s too loud they’ll lose the rhythm they’re starting to find again now. 

Link sounds like he’s trying to say something but the words are lost as he starts to fall into movements that brings Rhett’s fat cock right where he needs it. It’s a hell of a lot thicker and harder than the attachment he’d been using on the machine. It means he doesn’t have to be so precise for it to hit home, and the reality of it keeps stealing his ability to breathe. 

Link pauses for a second, fully seated on Rhett and presses his palms to Rhett’s hairy belly and tries to catch his breath. He can’t be still though, can’t stop working himself on Rhett’s dick cause it feels so good, so big in him. Slumped forward, eyes shut, he’s moving in barely-there circles, the muscles of his thighs flexing and taut with the effort. 

“J-Jesus Christ.” Rhett’s stammering, but Link suddenly got so much tighter he could hardly take it. Big hands move fretful over those thighs, petting him like he’s willing him to have mercy, to move, to _something_. 

“Y’feel real good.” Link’s slurring his words, southern and sloppy like he’s day-drunk as he starts to move again, starts to fuck himself on Rhett in earnest, slow at first and building momentum. 

“Real good,” he adds as a hand strays to his own belly, too out of it to realize Rhett’s watching his every move and can guess what he’s wondering as he presses in to feel for the cock he’s somehow managed to fit inside him. 

Rhett does see and he’s not shy about following suit, thick fingers rubbing low and pressing in to feel for himself through Link. He doesn’t know if he can feel himself or if he just wants to so badly his mind is near filling in the blanks and convincing him he does. 

“Can ya feel it?” 

Link’s eyes are a terrifyingly bright blue as he asks that, as their gazes catch. Rhett doesn’t know how to answer, doesn’t figure it out before Link stammers out, “‘Cause I sure can…”

“God,” Rhett husks, voice thick. This isn’t how he thought this’d go, barely able to do more than swear and grunt and Link somehow managing to string sentences together still.

Rhett’s got a hold so tight on Link’s hips they’ll surely bruise, guiding him to keep the steady soft-bouncing, rocking pace they’d found because _that’s it_. 

“Just like that, just… I’m gonna come, Link _I’m gonna come_,” Rhett’s tensed and shaking as he does, breathing shallow and gasping for air, his grip fiercely tight and holding him still in those final seconds. 

Link’s not sure what he was expecting it to feel like, but it’s startling when it happens. He can feel it more in Rhett’s body tense beneath him than he can inside him, but he _can_ inside too. A dull throb and more wet, less friction, and_ god_ it feels like he sinks another fraction of an inch down on him, takes him that much deeper, eased by the cum he’s picturing filling him.

Link doesn’t care so much anymore about getting there without his hands, it’d seem, because when Rhett looks next Link’s got a hand wrapped around his dick and he’s chasing his orgasm like a man possessed. Rhett wants in, wants to be the hand that Link spills into. He watches for just a second, between one heartbeat and the next, drinking Link in with all that wild silvery hair plastered to his face, hand racing between his legs, thighs flexing with the effort to get there without tipping over the edge into _too much. _Palms drag down those thighs and back up because he wanted to, because he needed to do more than look, thumbs teasing towards his center and Link’s resolve falters. That headlong dive stutters because he wants that too, wants Rhett’s big hand on him taking him the rest of the way. 

The angle’s bad and Rhett lacks the practiced ease of Link’s own hand, but when Link's hand falls away, Rhett takes hold and picks up where he left off. He’s overwhelmed by the sheer size of Rhett’s hand, by how an easy stroke seems to cover every inch of him, leaving no part of him wanting. Rhett’s always been so big it’s like he’s everywhere, even when it was just the dead move as teens and they were still lying to themselves that this was entirely platonic. Everything about Rhett is all consuming from the size of his body to his intensity to the wrap of his hand. 

“_Rhett_,” Link sounds urgent, near panic, and grabs Rhett’s forearm hard like he needs it for more than balance, but there isn’t time or space for a response before he comes messily over their bellies. All that tight coiled energy releases at once, shakes loose of his limbs as he throws his head back and holds on for dear life like Rhett’s the anchor that keeps him from losing himself. 

And Rhett watches. Not unlike the way he’s often caught watching Link in the viewfinder, or from the corner of his eye as they film GMM, or in real life the way Rhett’s eyes just gravitate towards him, trace the lines of his body like if he makes enough passes he’ll create a perfect copy to tuck away in his memory. 

Rhett watches now as Link loses the war he’d been fighting, watches as the pleasure of all this buildup crashes over him, threatens to pull him under. Rhett lets himself be held by him and holds in turn, anywhere he can reach with whatever hand is free because there’s no universe where he would let Link fall.

Soon they’re going to have to figure out what happens now. Do they talk about this after? Do they get dressed, tuck the Cowgirl away and head home to their respective houses and act like this never happened? Right now, neither of them have brain power enough to consider what happens next. 

Right now, Link collapses down against Rhett’s chest and lays there, boneless, the two of them breathing heavily in the lull.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for liking, commenting, and subscribing. You know what time it is!


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